It's Friday. You ain't got a job and you ain't got shit to do.

This time last week I was making pie crust while hungover. What a sexy image.

LKP and GMR hosted the second annual Thanksgiving in Paris last Friday. The two imports who have joined the Turkey Day vacation train from NL to FRA hopefully concur on the awesomeness that is T-day in Europe. I hate turkey with a burning fiery passion and could do without Thanksgiving food in general, so I might be biased -- but the times I've celebrated the holiday on the continent have always been the best (perhaps with the exception of the year my grandpa decided he wanted lobster...that was an interesting one).

Leigh and Greg are the best hosts. Firstly, they let me take over their kitchen, but will do all the cleaning up. Secondly, they like to take walks. Sometimes these walks are true trips, but even when they are not, I have to sing their praises. I know it's pretty normal for families to take walks together on Thanksgiving, but that wasn't a tradition in my house (we drank gin and watched Holiday Inn instead). It's nice to be older and decide which traditions you want to add (walking), keep (I still like drinking on Thanksgiving) or throw away (turkey, duh).

Not only foreign, but also Friday Thanksgivings are extra special. Five or so years ago, in Madrid, LKP and SAC cuddled up with me in the dorms at the universidad. On Thursday we were too busy watching flamenco to do anything other than eat bread and cheese. Next night we went out for a huge Americano-type meal and drank a LOT of red wine -- I got to see it all again, so I remember. This was supposed to be the night Leigh and Sara learned about the miracle of Agua de Valencia, but - as you all know - I can't hold my liquor. Maybe three sips in to this scorpion-bowl-type serving, I was out the door. Classy, really. But the visit was awesome: Suckling pig, a whole lot of chicken nuggets, and dancing with my sleeves. I wonder what ever happened to that shirt...